By Douglas Kearney
Was Him, once fini, on the beams,
prior, He's hewer of thorntree.
Could stretch tilapia and ewer,
dole …
prior, He's hewer of thorntree.
Could stretch tilapia and ewer,
dole …
Explore Poems: Fairy-tales & Legends
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- By UnknownLēodum is mīnum swylce him mon lāc gife;
willað hȳ hine āþecgan gif hē on þrēat cymeð.
Ungelīc is ū… - By Samuel GregoireTranslated By Forrest GanderMy delirium is a transformocean
Rocking me like the seven thousand waves
That brought Wangolo to Ziltik.
Cric . . .
Crack . . .
Tim Tim
Bwa sèch
It’s a tale of salty foam,
Of centuries-old laughter
Breaking out anew in wet reflections,
Of the coming and going of... - By Norman Finkelstein#
Listen to the children
who know their way about the forest
and return with stories
which the thief steals
exchanging them
for a kind of music.
#
Listen to the music
which knows its way about the forest
and returns with... - By UnknownHeyla! We have a story about the Spear-Danes, from the old days
when they were big and their kings showed their strength. There
was one king, Shield Schefing, who stole many mead-benches from
other tribes and terrified their leaders. At first, he was... - By UnknownOft him anhaga are gebideð,
metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig
geond lagulade longe sceolde
hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ,
wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aręd!
Swa cwæð eardstapa, earfeþa gemyndig,
wraþra wælsleahta, winemæga hryre:
“Oft ic sceolde ana uhtna gehwylce
mine ceare cwiþan. Nis nu cwicra nan
þe... - By Unknownþat it apertly was apayed for profite þat he feld,
and [wrouȝt] buxumly by þe bestes wille in wise as it couþe.
[1]
Hit bifel in þat forest, þere [fa]st byside,
þer woned a wel old cherl þat was a couherde,
þat fele winteres in... - By Nancy LeeIn this story the cockroach is the man,
the curtain my girlhood, the creamed
corn spilled by the mother wasted
familial love, the father's zealotry
a metaphor for emotional blindness.
In this story the radioactive dinosaur
is the man, the city of Tokyo my body,
and the... - By Jehanne DubrowYou remember the mermaid makes a deal,
her tongue evicted from her throat,
and moving is a knife-cut with every step.
This is what escape from water means.
Dear Colleagues, you write, for weeks
I’ve been typing this letter in the bright
kingdom of my imagination.... - By Hannah Copleyi
Otherwise known as peewit, otherwise known
as tew-it, otherwise known as Vanellus vanellus
of the family Charadriidae, otherwise known as
plain old lappy nestling itself in the till, otherwise
known as diver found in its down in the center
of some middle-of-nowhere, otherwise known as
wailer,... - By Lo Kwa Mei-EnWhen the mirror swings open, it calls me obscenely
shapely. A ruby wing slaps the glass. Soft smear. Since,
like the drowning trick in reverse, I learned to float
outside myself from a certain, mostly bearable height,
I watch terror push its anthem into... - By Clare JonesThe Inaccessible Island Rail lives in Atlantis,
with two black feet on the black plateau.
It might be slight, it might be shabby,
but it knows what it knows.
Rain falls from the sky.
The sun shines, within limits.
Wind blows in from the furthest west.
There... - By Michael FarrellEverything we do and say in patriarchy can be traced
back to “Strangers in the Night.” Your faded jeans, my
faint daytime smile. (Dazzling’s so expensive.) Bad
Mailer novels; lose-money-quick schemes. A fortune in
friendship, nevertheless. Beef farmers favor self-flesh
awareness. (Or brittle in toffee... - By Lily ZhouSaturday. The good bread set out for the dogs to eat.
The rabbit hurt on milk & tall willows
that I’ve bound to storefront. The headlines say
the waves are coming in today. The waves
& spoiled fruit & all the lives I’ve wasted
playing... - By Richard GarciaFirst the people had to invent ladders. No one had ever seen a ladder. Once they had ladders they invented walls to climb over. Soon they realized it took two ladders to climb a wall. One to climb up one...
- By Devin JohnstonWe gathered in a field southwest of town,
several hundred hauling coolers
and folding chairs along a gravel road
dry in August, two ruts of soft dust
that soaked into our clothes
and rose in plumes behind us.
By noon we could discern their massive coils
emerging... - By Alyssa Moore
- By Angela Narciso TorresIf you go to bed hungry, your soul will get up and steal cold rice from the pot.
Stop playing with fire before the moon rises or you’ll pee in your sleep.
Sweeping the floor after dark sweeps wealth and good fortune... - By George SterlingMy mother the queen is dead.
My father the king is old.
He fumbles his cirque of gold
And dreams of a year long fled.
The young men stare at my face,
But cannot meet my... - By Wallace StevensSister and mother and diviner love,
And of the sisterhood of the living dead
Most near, most clear, and of the clearest bloom,
And of the fragrant mothers the most dear
And queen, and of diviner love the day
And flame and summer and sweet...